


In Hopes and Desperation (Till the End of Eternity do us Part)

by SociopathicArchangel



Series: A Forest of Tears [1]
Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film)
Genre: F/M, concept au, prequel to forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:19:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SociopathicArchangel/pseuds/SociopathicArchangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They saw each other for the first time after the First War, just around the time when everyone was picking up what they could from the ruins of their city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Hopes and Desperation (Till the End of Eternity do us Part)

They saw each other for the first time after the First War, just around the time when everyone was picking up what they could from the ruins of their city.

There wasn’t much damage in the city, what with it being surrounded by towering, magic-infused walls and all, so at the moment it was the current residence of majority of the Concepts while they tried to rebuild everything they’d lost.

The ones that they could rebuild, anyway.

The Grand Hall, for example, was nothing but rubble and caved-in rooms since it was the major target of their enemies during the war. Granted, some of it was still standing, but it was inaccessible unless someone had a death wish or wanted a very unpleasant experience. The entire structure was so fragile it would probably crumble if someone threw a pebble at it.

Well, not really, but unless they were really careful, the Grand Hall wasn’t the place to hang out. And good thing too. The…machine was there. And Time would prefer if he never saw that thing again, despite the fact that it was his idea that had it built in the first place.

The Council was hosting a party at the newly built Hall that stood in the place of the old one. They had – what was the kid’s name, Dimensions? Realms? He looked familiar – phase the remains of the old hall to somewhere far off the mountains since nobody really went there. The magic they had used was suspiciously familiar though. There was only one person he knew who should be capable of it.

Half of the city was already in good shape and the ones who now had homes to return to had already reclaimed their living space. They didn’t lose a lot of people (as cocky as those Greeks were, they had no weapon in their armory that was enough to kill Concepts), and they still did their jobs fine so everyone counted that as a victory. A very huge victory.

Time smiled and replied the formality of a ‘thanks’ as the latest person who congratulated him waved goodbye to grab a dance.

He’d counted at least seven times that his name was boomed out in the event so far. ‘We would like to acknowledge the contribution of Time, without which we would never have won this war…’, ‘Congratulations on the job well done, Time’, ‘A marvelous genius of an idea by our very own Time…’

He liked hearing his own name, but he wouldn’t wear it out. But then again, these idiots wouldn’t be partying if it wasn’t for him, so he figured he deserved the attention and the applause.

It was halfway through the party when the performers switched and a woman in a beautiful, white, lace-layered dress took the stage and seated herself by the piano.

Everyone didn’t mind, of course, too busy with their dancing and constant returns to the dinner table. Soft notes started to drift through the hall and Time froze where he stood when he heard the singer’s voice carry out the first few words.

He slowly turned his head from the sight of the ballroom floor to the stage where she sat; rainbow hair cascading down her back in curly rivulets, long elegant lashes and a smile on her face that made him think of a wicked empress.

She was smiling as she sang, eyes closed and not looking at the keys as her fingers glided across the keyboard.

Time felt his glass slowly slip from his fingers and looked down. He was almost holding it by only its rim. He frowned and made his way to the table to place it down.

His hand didn’t stop shaking. Fuck, why wouldn’t it stop shaking?

Time moved back until he was leaning against the wall and crossed his arms. Well, he supposed the woman had a nice voice. Was she Music? No, maybe not, he distinctly remembered that they…

Either way, she wasn’t that bad. She sounded nice.

He didn’t remember seeing her around here, though. But then again, there were a lot of them so it was near impossible to know every single Concept in the city unless you were a social butterfly. Time wasn’t much of that. He would rather prefer the isolation of his castle. In fact, the only reason he was in this party was because he was an important guest.

But there was something about this one that caught his attention.

Time eyed his drink on the table and huffed. He stepped forward and took it back before drinking it all in one gulp.

He wasn’t denying it, she was really good at singing, like holy shit.

It was about two minutes later, after she had finished her song, when he realized that the rest of the room had fallen silent as well, attention focused on the stage. All the pairs on the dance floor had stopped to look up at her.

The woman turned to face the audience and Time finally got a good look at her.

She was gorgeous.

Seemingly satisfied with the awestruck faces in the room from her performance, she smiled and curtsied, curls swaying to the side slightly as she did so. The room broke out in applause.

Tony hummed thoughtfully. She was impressive, after all. He thought he saw her eyes flicker in his direction, but dismissed it. She was probably scanning the audience and taking in her victory. People were congratulating her on a job well done once she got off the stage.

It was by the end of the party when Tony realized that the only person to have matched the uproar he created was that woman he had learned was named Creativity.

* * *

 

The next time they saw each other was a few months after the party. Meetings were now commonplace, especially with their whole rebuilding project still in swing. Time was really regretting his decision to be in the Council. He had his own projects to deal with and he had to put most of them in the back burner because of his duties.

That didn’t mean he enjoyed doing said duties though. For example, instead of claiming one of the higher seats in the jury (the meeting hall acted as a courtroom sometimes), he chose to sit in the audience instead, a few rows from the back. Sure, it would anger a few council members, but no one’s ever tried to go against a Power before. Besides, he had a headache to nurse from all the sleepless nights on trying to catch up on working on his hourglasses.

It was by pure coincidence that Creativity sat beside him since there weren’t any seats left.

Tony wondered whose seat he had taken and where the poor Concept was standing now.

The meeting was as dull as always. They went over the finished projects, the resources used and needed, supply and demand, how everything was affecting their jobs in the human realm (if it was affected at all). Halfway through, Tony’d considered drifting off, but it was hard to do so when his seatmate was either tapping a beat with her fingers, humming or doodling on her dress.

Seriously, who the fuck draws on their dress?

Apparently, she did, as the entire left side of her skirt was now a canvas for a depiction of a battle from the First War. He could tell from the detailed illustration of a towering machine, fitted with what looked like crystals, that took up most of the space on her skirt. That was the same machine he’d invented after all.

She looked up and noticed his frown that was directed at her work.

“Oh, aren’t you Time?” she asked. Tony tore his eyes away from the drawing to look at her. Without waiting for him to answer, she continued, “You’re mister big savior, aren’t you?”

He clicked his tongue and frowned further, “I don’t like the tone you’re using with that.”

She chuckled, “Pleasure to meet you, Time. I’m Creativity.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Oh, you’ve heard of me? That’s nice to know; we’re even then.”

He made an annoyed noise at the back of his throat and Creativity grinned wider.

Tony turned back to the meeting, intent on drowning Creativity out and at least listening to the Council’s boring drone.

He succeeded for a few minutes, as Creativity lost interest in him and started drawing on her dress again.

Her pencil was scratching against the fabric louder than it should have.

Time shifted, crossed his arms and faced forward.

“…and of course, there was Creativity’s influence on the progress of human art.”

Creativity raised her head at the sound of her name and smiled.

Justice proceeded to read the rest of their news on the Concepts’ influence on the human world and Creativity resumed drawing again. Seriously, why was she doing that? It was a rather nice dress too, Time thought.

“Human art has been progressing from those pathetic excuses of paintings they have on rocks?” he murmured.

Creativity laughed, “Have you been paying attention, mister savior?”

“Stop saying that.”

She ignored him, “Of course they have. Humans are incredibly dull, but some part of them was built to create. They’re just discovering how sculpture works, but Polykleitos is a very eager listener to whispers.”

Civilization was well underway then. He forgot sometimes. Timelines were exhausting to look at with all of their possibilities. That was what Fate was useful for, but then there was the ‘free will’ rule imposed by the Voices that Fate was not to touch the lives of any of the humans unless absolutely necessary. Like say, a prophecy or when they were instructed to. And, Fate was…a rather unruly _child._

How old were they, a hundred and two? A weak little preteen who would rather run off with their friends and rip a few holes in space.

He was thankful when Creativity didn’t try to keep the conversation going after that. She was interesting, yes. Annoying, also yes.

She started singing.

Absolutely fucking irritating, a very big yes.

Time took a deep breath and exhaled loudly through his nose, “Would it kill you to please shut up?”

Don’t get him wrong, she had a nice voice. But he had a headache right now and everything sounded really loud. That was why he chose to sit in the back in the first place.

Creativity turned to him but did not stop.

Tony growled and curled his hands into fists.

“Creativity.”

She put a hand to her mouth and snickered. “Alright,” she said, “You’ll have to work on your temper though, dear, it’ll land you in hot water soon enough.”

The rest of the meeting was easier to bear with now that she was silent.

It was later when his headache had passed that he realized she called him ‘dear’.

* * *

 

Whether or not she was doing it on purpose, he didn’t know, but they always seemed to bump into each other. He’d pass by her at the streets, he’d somehow end up sitting beside her during meetings, and even when he visited the human world (which was a rare occasion) he always found her. Then their fights started – not the physical kind, not yet – and they would fight over anything.

Her tardiness, his uptight personality, her dress didn’t look good (it did, but he’d never admit it), whether or not the curtains in the meeting hall needed to be replaced, who played piano better, which color would match better with the navy blue ceiling of the hallways.

She was aggravating. Far too fast-paced and impulsive for his liking – if she wanted to draw, she wouldn’t wait for a meeting to be over and would draw on her dress; if she had an idea for a song, she would immediately start humming under her breath and try out the lyrics, writing out notes on anything she can take home; she would choose being late over waking up early if she didn’t feel like it.

He, on the other hand, was organized. He had a schedule for everything, he acted accordingly, and he was never late.

Of course, despite the fact that they always ended up crossing paths, he never expected to bump into her again when he stepped down from the Council and left the Concept realm for his own peace of mind.

It had been centuries since the First War, and since every0ne had the decency and the common sense to stay in their lanes, nothing that huge and destructive had started up again. Little fights with minor deities they were easily able to snuff out, yes, but as huge as having to rebuild their home, no.

And since they Council wasn’t letting him step down despite the fact that he really wanted to – and he had _nothing_ to do in the Council, really – he…ran off. Escaped from the Nebula with nothing but the clothes on his back, his sword, and the faint memory of one last goodbye to his sister’s crypt. He was probably not going back home anytime soon, not if he wanted to stay alive and unbothered.

So he moved from place to place, terrorized a few humans along the way, discovered that they had moved on from water clocks and sundials to hourglasses (finally). Their calendars still needed a bit of work so they could all be organized, but they managed.

In one particular place he stayed in, there was a willing young human who was fascinated by his works (he had taken the job of being an hourglass maker to amuse himself), and Time had thought maybe it would be fun to see how smart humans were. For once, he made an exception, and taught this young child.

Some human minds were _brilliant._ The human took every scolding he dished out, took notes on everything he said and did everything exactly as he told them to do, and then, when given the chance, applied them to their own projects and wasn’t afraid to experiment.

That was how they made the first mechanical watch that wasn’t going to be commercialized for a few centuries later.

It turned out, the humans that they originated from were as petty as the Concepts as well, and they had their own wars and battles. They conquered each other’s homes although they just lived in one speck of dirt floating in what was practically nothingness.

Humans were funny. And immature. Time guessed _they_ were too.

His little apprentice died, of course. Time stayed for a few days before he moved on. He had nothing to do in the village anymore. It was practically on fire by the time he left, screaming everywhere as humans killed each other. At least Concepts didn’t kill each other, from what he had seen.

He met Creativity in the next town he visited. She was a seamstress.

His coat was ripped and he didn’t trust just anybody to patch it up. He’d seen a lady walk down the street with her servants wearing a particularly eye-catching gown that reminded him of the clothes they used to have in the Nebula, so he asked her where she had it tailored, and she pointed him to the shop near the church.

She had dark hair and amber eyes, but the humming of magic under her veins was unmistakable. So was her voice and the smug smile she gave him the moment he stepped into her shop.

 _“You.”_ He hissed.

She smiled, “Hello, there, Time…or what are you going by nowadays?”

“Like I would ever tell you,” he crossed his arms and shifted his weight on one foot.

Creativity laughed. The bell behind Time jingled as the door opened and a tiny servant girl came hurrying over to Creativity. The Concept graced the child with a small smile, “Yes, Marie?”

“The mistress wants a new gown, Mademoiselle!” Marie cried, “She is to have a party five days from now and she refuses to accept what Monsieur and Madame have given her…she wants a new gown tailored by you.”

“In five days’ time, dear?”

Marie nodded vigorously.

Creativity chuckled and pulled a ribbon out of her smock’s pocket to tie her hair up.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

Marie breathed a sigh of relief, “You are gift from the heavens, Mademoiselle.”

Time watched as the servant girl exited the shop in a much happier mood from earlier. Once she was out of sight, he turned to Creativity and scoffed.

“Do you really think you can make a gown in five days’ time by yourself?”

She snorted inelegantly, “You obviously don’t know me – and you actually don’t. I can make that pompous fish of a mistress Marie has a gown in a night with my eyes closed and it wouldn’t be anything to turn your nose up.”

“You’re arrogant.”

“So are you.”

He leered at her. “And just how are you planning to accomplish this feat of yours seeing as you…” he motioned around the shop, with its mannequins that had unfinished gowns on and the sketches all over her desks, “…still have so much to do.”

She laughed, “Oh, Time,” she shook her head, “You have no idea what I can do.”

-

She did manage to complete the gown in a night, but delivered it to the customer a day before she needed it. Baroness de Corbeau was smug as she wore it and showed it off to her parents, like it was _her_ work, although Time supposed it was that she was proving to them her choice in seamstresses was superior.

Madame and Monsieur de Corbeau had eyed Creativity with disdain when she entered their manor, although she was presentable in her lace-decorated dress, but they seemed to have heard that she was just a little seamstress who worked and lived near the church.

Honestly, she could probably do a lot more, but she was probably enjoying playing around with the mortals.

A week after, Time moved on to another place. Creativity wasn’t the best person to be around, and he couldn’t risk it if she was undercover to look for him. He would be dragged back home and punished, or worse, stuck back into the Council again.

He stayed in a few cities that would have him, moved whenever he felt like he had been there long enough, or when the place was taken by war. That brought back too many memories. Memories that sometimes he felt like his sister would shake her head at and look at him with an expression that was a mixture of sadness and disappointment. She always was wiser.

He watched kingdoms fall and more civilizations rise, watched countries fight for each other’s lands and kill one another, watched the humans slowly destroy their home and themselves. Not that it bothered him too much. Everything had an end, right? That was what he was for. Measuring everything…until its last stand.

It was funny.

* * *

 

The Originem Nebula was a spectacular place, and truthfully, she could have anything she wanted there, whether it be jewels or paints for her crafts. If she wanted, she could take one of the stars in the sea and stick it onto the ceiling of her cozy little cottage by the hills, where the ground was covered with grass instead of cobblestones. Heels clacked too noisily on cobblestones. The grass was cool and soft.

Politics was suffocating though. The Council had a lot of problems to deal with, especially with the recent suffering of the war. People were trying to rebuild, and they had to make sure that they didn’t affect the human realm with how they spent their magic. So they had to go slow for the most part, or did their work manually.

And then there was Fate, the young little slip of a Concept who would go missing for days on end and skipping their lessons. Apparently, the Concept had been picked by the Head of the Council – Order – to succeed them. Fate was supposed to know how things were supposed to go, after all, and should be able to direct the Council on what to do to avoid any more crises.

The child didn’t want to. They had grown up around the Council and had been trained since birth, but since the war had happened, they had been a little unruly. Unsurprising, since any child would be shaken up by something so destructive.

Order was making such a fuss out of it, though. And then, there was the fact that Time had stepped down recently, and people were currently fighting for the open seat in the Council. Fate wasn’t of age yet, and under law, anyone could be a Council member provided that they were picked out by either the Voices, or, if the Voices were unavailable, the Head of the Council.

Concepts were fighting, others were sucking up to Order; every other day, there was a meeting and there’d be an unnecessary debate on things just to get attention. It was infuriating, honestly.

Who could blame her if she wanted out?

* * *

She crossed to the mortal realm in the dark of night. Well, it was day on Earth, but the Nebula never followed the same time, so it was midnight when she left. She posed as an unassuming mortal, completely changing her vessel’s form (and sapping magic for a good amount of time), so as to keep the Council’s eyes and ears from her.

The Greeks were interesting people. Always were willing to listen to her whispers and suggestions. People called it a stroke of genius. She called it manipulation.

These people never met most of their gods. Didn’t know half of them were dead from being obliterated by the war machine Time had invented. So she told them stories about them, the ones she knew about from witnessing it herself. The swiftness and strength of Artemis, the brightness of Apollo, the cunning of Athena and all of the mighty feats they performed.

Of course, Athena had been the first to be killed since she was the one who directed how the attacks would go and was therefore an important target. Apollo was shot down from his chariot and was shoved into the war machine, and his essence blasted his sister to pieces. Hades stayed neutral, smart man. Zeus was still alive, but bitter and humiliated after retreating from being heavily wounded.

Ares…had a stand-off with their very own War. He won, but War’s cousin Fear ate him. Literally.

It was gnarly. But she didn’t tell the humans that. They’d chase her out, and then she’d catch the attention of the Council since they still kept tabs on Greece, just in case their deities tried to get revenge or a Concept tried to finish the job and strike up another war.

Creativity just needed to get used to how the human world worked for now. And how to move the physical bodies when they were so restricted by _not_ having magic and by gravity being such a bitch all the time.

 

* * *

She travelled with pirates. She travelled with painters. She travelled with aristocrats. She travelled with Gypsies. She taught Verrocchio in secret every night. Hummed Amadeus to sleep and smiled to herself when he would eventually remember these little melodies and turn them into pieces that people hailed as music from the heavens itself. Guided Ludwig’s hands as he practiced. (Nobody needed to know. It was their little secret after all.) Told story after story to young Christian Andersen, and, like each of her prodigies, he would remember and write these out when he got older.

She watched humanity rise and fall, along with their art. It was amusing to watch.

In the end, it was Vincent who gave her a name. Her precious little Vincent who had remarked that her dress was like it was made out of layers and layers of pages and had started calling her ‘Page’ when he was about five.

She liked that. And even though spelling changed as years went by, and her precious prodigy grew up and locked himself up in an asylum, where she still visited and talked to him before he eventually put a bullet in his head, the name sticked.

Paige. Concepts usually chose their true names. The ones that they could be summoned and bound with, not the titles they had. Most Concepts chose when they got older; others when they were younger; on rare occasions, some don’t choose at all. It was a smart move, so that they couldn’t be tied down, but, it was also a little maddening.

You had no sense of individuality. You were just a title on a page. Another pillar in a vast universe. Having a name meant being you. It…grounded magic to one’s soul. Made it more solid. Stronger. Names were double-edged that way. It gave power and it took it away.

She didn’t watch Vincent be taken away to be buried. Wasn’t even sure if he was going to be. All she saw that night was the body of her little student broken and burst open at the head before she walked away and moved to another place. This was why they should never get attached.

She never expected to meet Time again, and he was still as smug as ever. He had been missing for centuries and had kept his cover down, so she never thought she would find him. Never crossed her mind, really. He moved again pretty quickly and she shrugged it off. No two runaways should be within the vicinity of the other. One might rat the other out.

She briefly wondered if he already had a name.

* * *

 

When they do meet, they talk, fleetingly. It was nice to have someone in the human world to talk to about home. They wondered what had happened back at the Originem Nebula, laughed about a few things, terrorized mortals and cackled when the humans got too scared and lashed out.

It had been a few centuries. Maybe Fate was older and the Council had calmed down now. Maybe the entire realm had been rebuilt. Maybe they’d gotten tired of trying to pick a fight with other deities. Maybe the Voices had finally come back.

They didn’t hope too much for it.

The Concepts were…too childish. Too selfish. Too impulsive. They both know because they are too. On more than one occasion, Paige had destroyed one of Tony’s clocks, and he had nearly choked her to death because of it. Once, he rotted one of her paintings and she cut off his fingers one by one and watched, fascinated, as they discovered that their bodies could regenerate.

They stopped swapping meatsuits, eventually.

They would meet, they would talk, they would fight, tell each other how much they hated them, and then they would run. Sometimes _from_ each other, since they each were insufferable. Sometimes hand-in-hand, chased out of a village, laughing as they hear the mortals behind them. As if those little mud creatures could ever hurt them. But it’s fun to run anyway. It made Paige feel alive.

And so that went on for a while. They meet, they fight, they separate.

(And Paige would never admit that she thought about him, and neither would he that he thought about her too.)

And then she settled into a little house where three interesting little friends lived in. The older one with the long, red hair, his friend who had lovely golden eyes that _flashed_ with fear when he looked at her, and the young child they both tried to keep safe. She’d teach them good, just like all her other students.

And then one morning, he arrived, and the greeting Paige gave him was a hissed, _“You,”_ and a knife to the chest. He countered with the sword that never left his side.


End file.
